


Shadows of Ealdor

by fitz_y



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Ealdor, First Love, Homophobia, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, References to the Church's Condemnation of Sodomy, Worrying Mothers, teenage boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear of the villagers discovering his magic was not what drove Merlin from Ealdor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows of Ealdor

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta(s):** I am endlessly grateful to my thoughtful, careful betas who not only worked with my ridiculously short time frame, but were able to give me excellent feedback. Thanks to: [](http://notfairytales.livejournal.com/profile)[**notfairytales**](http://notfairytales.livejournal.com/) who didn’t even know me and still said yes to my frantic beta request, and who also turned out to be not only a great beta, but also a wonderful cheerleader and awesome person; [](http://yllenk.livejournal.com/profile)[**yllenk**](http://yllenk.livejournal.com/) who helped me think through the prompt before I started writing, who was able to beta this after all despite intercontinental travel and being laid low by a horrible cold she picked up in Paris, and without whom I wonder if I’d really ever get any writing finished; [](http://la-rrrubio.livejournal.com/profile)[**la_rrrubio**](http://la-rrrubio.livejournal.com/) , my super-duper porn beta, who is always available for late-night skype discussions of anatomy and emotions; [](http://skellywag.livejournal.com/profile)[**skellywag**](http://skellywag.livejournal.com/) , a kick-ass spelling and grammar queen, who graciously said yes to my last-minute SPAG request, and who turned this fic around quickly while still managing to give it a ton of time and thought. All remaining mistakes are my own.  
>  **A/N** : I’m reposting this from the [](http://merlin-muses.livejournal.com/profile)[**merlin_muses**](http://merlin-muses.livejournal.com/) fest. It was written for [Prompt 250](http://community.livejournal.com/merlin_muses/2601.html).

///

 _Age Six_

In the year of the ruined harvest Blayne left Ealdor for good.

Bolting through the pelting rain one morning to the house next door, Merlin found his uncle’s one-room cottage empty, his hearth cold, his easy smile suddenly gone from his life.

He plopped down, resting his back on the damp wall, watching the drops from his curly hair making dark marks on the dirt floor, and cried.

///

 _Age Seven_

The first time he saw Will, Merlin was hovering behind his mother, closely assessing their new neighbours—the towering red-faced man and his son. The man, Peter, thanked Hunith curtly for the basket of garden vegetables and rye rolls. Without pausing for breath, he launched into bemoaning the repairs needed in Blayne’s old cottage, the fire that had driven his son and him from their former village, and the difficulties of raising a son without a mother. When he said the last bit, he eyed Hunith in a speculative way. Merlin glared at him and shifted from one foot to the other.

Hunith responded politely and quietly while Merlin watched the boy in the corner who looked to be about his age; he was unloading baskets of crockery, banging their sparse kitchenware onto the shelf as though it had personally offended him. Hunith nudged him and he interpreted her look to mean _stop standing around, and go introduce yourself_.

He walked up to the boy, who ignored his approach, and remained facing away.

“I’m Merlin.” Young Merlin stuck his hand out petulantly toward the shorter boy’s back. The boy spun around, his shaggy brown hair falling in his eyes and his blue gaze startlingly clear. He assessed Merlin quickly.

“Yeah, hi.” He shrugged and lifted the heavy soup pot, carrying it over to the hearth. Annoyed, Merlin dogged his heels.

“Are you always this rude?” he asked.

The boy flashed him a ruddy-cheeked smile. “Yeah,” he admitted without feeling.

Merlin paused a beat, staring intently at the new boy who had no time for niceties. He thought he might rather like him.

“Hey, do you want to come see a three-legged dog? Samuel Willcox’ Smit only has three legs.”

“That’s not possible,” the boy scoffed, brows furrowing. “A dog can’t move around with only three legs.”

“Sure it can,” Merlin answered easily. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

The boy shrugged again and glanced over to where their parents were talking, his dad gesturing grandly and Hunith smiling civilly. “Yeah, okay.”

  
In Merlin’s opinion, the boy was not properly impressed with Smit. They watched the dog hobble along, alternately barking at the chickens and chasing her tail, blissfully ignorant of what she was missing in life. “So what?” the boy asked.

“So what? She has only got three legs! It’s amazing.”

“It’s kinda stupid, actually,” the boy drawled.

“You’re stupid,” Merlin spat back.

The boy responded by trying to punch Merlin hard in the face, but Merlin was too quick for him. He dodged and then used his wavy dark-haired mop as a battering ram aimed straight for the boy’s stomach. With a yelp, the boy fell to the ground, yanking Merlin down with him by the tunic. The boys tussled, tumbling through the dirt, scratching at each other’s faces, fisting each other’s hair, smacking palms against each other’s jaws.

Merlin may have used just a touch of unnoticeable magic to pin the other boy down, enhancing the strength of his own grip. “Say Smit is the best dog ever.”

The boy struggled under him, face red from exertion. “Why do you care?”

“Say it,” Merlin demanded intensely.

“Fine. Smit’s the best dog ever,” the boy laughed.

“And tell me your name.”

“Will.” Merlin shoved off and offered him a hand up, but the other boy just pouted. Then he sprang up, tackling Merlin where he stood.

  
By the time the boys raced each other home with dirty cheeks, bruised knuckles, and wide grins splitting their faces, Merlin had decided that Will was alright.

  
Alone in his small cot that night, Merlin woke up with a pained yelp. The darkness closed around him, angry echoes rang in his ears— _God’s punishment_ , _trial by water_ —and he _knew_ that someone was standing in the shadowy corner with a pitchfork, waiting to skewer him.

“Merlin, come here,” Hunith called in a low and familiar voice from the other side of the cottage.

“There’s no one else in the cottage, Merlin, you’re safe, come over here.”

He saw her sitting up in her bed, reaching out to him. There was only a few feet of space between them. He could cross it, he knew he could.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin threw off his blanket, and then quickly, so nothing could attack him from the corners, he darted into his mother’s bed, scurrying under the covers and landing in her warm embrace. She kissed the top of his head.

“Was it a bad dream like you used to get when Blayne would tell ghost stories?”

“No,” Merlin said in a small voice as he burrowed against her warm side, hiding his head under her arm. “It was the other kind . . . the kind with pitchforks and Old Man Simmons.”

She stroked his hair. “He can’t hurt you, Merlin. Sleep now, my love.”

“Okay.” The calmness in her voice snuck into his scattered mind, and he hugged her closer, pillowing his face against her breast, listening to the steady beating of her heart.

“And please, put out your nightlight, sweetie,” she sighed.

“Sorry, Mummy.” Merlin waved at the floating blue sphere above their heads, letting the light know it was safe to leave. And then he dropped down into a restful slumber.

///

Warm September days slipped by. A brownish gold crept over the fields; in the early mornings the villagers bundled themselves into warm fleece jackets, only to strip them off as they sweated over the threshing and winnowing under the noontime sun.

Most mornings, Will appeared at Merlin’s elbow as he was unlatching the chicken coop and clucking his good morning chatter to the animals. Will scoffed and called Merlin a big girl for cooing over the birds. Merlin simply shook his head at Will. “They’re a lot smarter than you are.” At that point, Will either smacked him upside the head or tackled him outright, depending on how much of the sleep he had already rubbed out of his eyes. Together they moved through the rest of the day either arm in arm or wrestling in the dirt.

Will showed Merlin his father’s sword collection and taught him how to improve his right hook. Merlin showed Will where the river’s swimming hole was, the best places to pick mushrooms in the woods, and how to climb the tallest tree that looked over the whole village—a stout oak with a fat, gnarled trunk and thick branches that reached long and wide over the footpath below.

One day, hiding from their task of collecting acorns for pig feed, they sat for hours on the highest branch, bare feet dangling in the cool air. Behind them, the woods stretched out endlessly, the greens of the treetops peppered with rich golds and reds. In front of them lay the village, nothing more than a cluster of houses, patches of gardens, barns, the small chapel, the grain mill and the river it was perched on, and the village’s two fields and small orchard. A stone wall edged the fields, and was swallowed up by the forest and the distant hills.

“Will, what’s it like outside of Ealdor?” Merlin asked after a long comfortable silence.

Will looked up from where he was peeling away a large piece of bark from the tree trunk. “I dunno. About the same as here, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah my old village was no different. Until the fire. Then it was just . . . gone. Everything burnt up.” Will turned back to the tree trunk. “Hey, look, I’ve almost got it! A piece of bark as big as my hand. I know, we’ll take your scarf, cut it into a sail, and turn this here into a tiny sailboat.”

“Not my scarf, Will, Mum will be mad.”

“Whatever, your scarf looks stupid anyway.” Will scowled and continued fiddling with the bark.

Merlin gazed out to the distant mountains and wondered how far the path through the forest could take him. Could he follow it over the hills? He bit his lip, remembering a faraway moment, a conversation that often hovered just under his thoughts.

He had stood next to Uncle Blayne in his doorway, rain falling in sheets around them. Uncle Blayne’s long brown hair hung wet around his shoulders, his patient blue eyes watching Merlin’s reaction.

“Leave Ealdor? What does that mean?” Merlin had asked.

“It means I’ll be moving out of my cottage, travelling elsewhere. It’s like going on a hunting trip . . . but not coming back.”

“No, no.” Merlin had shaken his head, the words coming out of Blayne’s mouth too big to follow. “No, Uncle Blayne, no one leaves Ealdor; you can’t just go hunting and not come back! A bear might eat you, and what will you do for food?”

“A bear won’t eat me. I’ll be alright.” Blayne had knelt down so his face was on level with Merlin’s. “I don’t want to,” he had said emphatically. “I want nothing more than to stay here with you and your mother.”

“Then why are you going?” Merlin had asked as his chin had begun to bob and tears had prickled behind his eyes.

“Because people don’t want me here anymore.”

“Why wouldn’t they want you here?”

“It’s hard to explain, Merlin.”

“I want you here. And Mum wants you here. And Matthew wants you here. And your dog Rufus wants you here. And all the chickens want you here!” Merlin had protested.

But Blayne had just shaken his head. Seeing the earnestness in his face, Merlin had begun to cry, his body quivering with deep wrenching sobs. So Blayne had gathered him into a hug that felt safe and good and right.

“C’mon, Merlin, let’s use your scarf for the sail. Your mum doesn’t have to know if we cut a tiny piece out of it.” Will’s voice brought Merlin back to the tree trunk, to the village sprawled underneath them, to the home that somehow was not quite home anymore.

“Yeah, okay,” he said dully as he unwound his scarf from around his neck.

///

Winter washed over Ealdor, blanketing the hills in snow, trapping the villagers inside by the hearth, stretching out the darkness as the night chased away the day.

Most evenings, Will and his father joined Hunith and Merlin by the hearth. Peter’s booming voice felt a little too loud for their one-room cottage, and the tense look around Hunith’s eyes worried Merlin, but he and Will spent the evenings ignoring their parents, poking each other in the ribs, and battling with dried corncobs.

Merlin tried not to think about how different things were now from those hushed, content evenings by the hearth with Uncle Blayne, from those nights when, belly full of Hunith’s almond cakes, Merlin would lie sprawled with Rufus, Blayne’s black shaggy dog, in a furry mass by the fire. Occasionally, Matthew Simmons would join them, not saying much in the quiet evening, sitting close to Blayne, their fingers tangling in the shadows. Sometimes as the wind raced around the outside walls of the cottage, and the snow piled in drifts against the shuttered windows, Merlin would beg Blayne for a ghost story. Hunith would always scowl and admonish Blayne that he wasn’t the one forced to stay up comforting a crying child, but Merlin would put on his best pout and tug on Blayne’s sleeve until he relented and told shivering, delightful stories. Merlin would squirm and snuggle into Rufus’ warm flank.

Now most evenings ended with Peter grinning widely at Hunith, cuffing Will on the shoulder, and pushing him out into the night, and Hunith patting her hair and hugging her arms tightly around her chest after they left.

///

 _Age Nine_

Merlin and Will were covered in mud. It squished in their boots, stained their breeches, glued their hair messily to their brows. But they barely noticed it. Lying belly down on the riverbank, they were staging an epic battle between the pinecones and the twigs. Merlin’s twigs were fairly successful at poking Will in the face, but failed tremendously at taking down the pinecones. The pinecones, however, aided by Will’s clenched fists slamming them into the fragile sticks, excelled at splitting the twigs into pieces.

“Argh!” Merlin hollered after Will felled another one of his carefully lined-up twig soldiers. “You’re cheating!” And he sprang up from where he was lying and tackled Will, landing with his chest draped over Will’s back, his arm loose around Will’s neck, leaving slippery brown marks on his skin.

Will just chuckled and rolled over, sending them tumbling towards the river.

“Boys!” a high-pitched voice behind them screeched. “Merlin and Will! Stop that this instant!” Reluctantly, the boys pulled off each other and squinted up to see Anna Simmons standing on the edge of the woods, frowning with her hands on her hips. Her long dark hair was pulled into a braid behind her back, and her loose green dress accentuated her heavily pregnant belly.

Merlin glared at her, shoving himself into a standing position, wiping his muddy hands on his already muddy tunic. “Just because you’re about to become a mother, Anna, doesn’t mean you can tell us what to do, you meddling . . .”

“. . . old bag!” Will finished for him loudly.

Anna’s lip trembled and she squinted her deep brown eyes. “You boys can’t speak to me that way. I’ll tell your mother. I was just trying to help you. It’s really not safe for you to be rolling around so close to the water. You could fall in and drown.”

“Oh sod off!” Will called enthusiastically. “Why don’t you run back and cry to Matthew! See if we care! We can do what we want, we can!”

Anna rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and turned to stalk off, her dark braid swinging behind her.

“That was good fun!” Will said cheerfully.

Merlin stood stock still, unresponsive, his hands fisted at his sides. “Yeah, good fun,” he mumbled.

“I don’t know what she’s on about, anyway. Now that she’s a married woman and pregnant to boot, she suddenly thinks she can tell all the kids what to do.”

Merlin bit his lip, glancing down at the mud smeared into their clothing. “Hey, Will, I have an idea,” he said, his voice eager with mischief.

“What?”

“Let’s sneak into the chapel with our muddy clothing and walk on all the pews.”

Will slapped him on the back. “Sometimes you’re downright brilliant. Let’s go. I can’t wait to see the priest’s face tomorrow at service.”

  
Merlin had to go home eventually.

He and Will perched high in their oak, mud caked in their clothing and hair. In front of them the sun was sinking into the backdrop of hills.

Will chortled next to him, rambling. “And those mud prints you left on the pulpit! Oh Merlin, I can’t wait ‘til everyone sees that tomorrow morning.” Will kicked out his feet under him.

Beneath them in the darkening spring evening, hearth fires shone brightly through cottage windows, farm workers trudged home, splashing the mud off their boots in buckets of water.

Merlin remembered Anna’s smug reprimand and scowled. He thought of how her long brown hair wasn’t nearly as pretty as Uncle Blayne’s had been.

He looked out below him and wondered what it would feel like to fly. He thought about how Uncle Blayne used to toss him high into the air as he joked, “Fly, little Merlin, fly!!!” The world would tilt as he twirled through it, trees leaning dangerously, white clouds zooming closer. And then it was over and he would be secure once again in his uncle’s arms, his face nestled in Blayne’s shoulder. He would rest his head there for a moment, eyes squeezed closed inhaling the familiar scent of woodchips and lye soap as he breathed.

Once the darkness had grown complete and the first stars glittered in the sky, Merlin and Will sighed and scooted down the tree, heads hanging on their way home.

  
“Where have you been, Merlin?” Hunith’s voice, hard in a way that Merlin had never heard before, called to him as he opened the door.

He recoiled when he saw Old Man Simmons sitting at their kitchen bench. If Will hadn’t been directly behind him, he would have backed up, closed the door, run through the darkness back to the shelter of their tree. But Will bumped into him, pushing him into the cottage; a surge of panic flooded through Merlin. He blinked and struggled to keep the magic itching under his skin from lashing out at the man in front of him.

Simmons looked down his hawk-like nose and glowered at Merlin. His sparse greying hair lay flat against his skull, making the bones in his head stand out prominently in the firelight. Anna sat on the bench next to him, her face pale, her hands crossed over her swollen belly. Behind them with his hand resting on his wife’s shoulder, stood Matthew Simmons, his bearded face still, his chin ducking down almost to his chest, his shaggy hair hiding his brow and eyes.

From underneath his fringe, Matthew’s gaze met Merlin’s eyes and skittered away. Merlin flinched, trying not to think of think of those evenings over three years ago that Matthew had spent in their cottage, trying not to think of how Matthew used to always have a kind smile and an almond cake for Merlin, trying not to think of how Old Man Simmons would appear with the same scowl on his face that he was wearing now, and drag Matthew home with a few choice swear words.

Will’s father, Peter, towered silently in the far end of the room, his bulky arms crossed over his chest.

Hunith’s mouth was pressed together so tightly that the skin around her lips was pale. “Merlin and Will! You certainly took your sweet time coming home.”

Will flushed red and glanced at Merlin, then took a step back towards the door behind him. Clearly the traitor was wondering how quickly he could make his escape.

Old Man Simmons rose up and lurched toward Merlin. Hunith glanced between him and Merlin, and then held her hand out quickly towards the visitor. “Now, Horst, let me deal with my son.”

“He insulted my daughter-in-law!” Old Man Simmons retorted, his frail chest heaving, his watery eyes scowling at Merlin.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as nervous terror coursed through his veins. He wished he was yelling at the man right now instead of cowering against the wall.

“I know. And he will be punished for that. But let me handle my son.” Hunith said in a voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Merlin and Will. Apologize to Anna at once.”

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Merlin stammered, edging his back against the wall so he put space between Old Man Simmons and himself. Anna sniffed and held her head up high.

“Well I’m not,” Will protested with bluff. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms in front of his chest, rocking back on his heels.

“William,” Peter’s resonant voice rang out in the small chamber. He strode over to Will in a few quick steps and smacked his closed fist hard against Will’s ear. Will yelped, bucking over. He stumbled a few steps, clutching at his ear.

“Apologize to the lady now,” Peter ordered.

Will glanced up, glaring. “I’m sorry, Anna,” he ground out. He pulled his hand away from his ear and Merlin saw the blood trickling down to his chin.

Anna’s face turned even paler as her eyes darted from Peter to Will. “No, it’s alright.” She turned an imploring gaze to Matthew. “I think we’d best go now.” She stood up slowly, supporting her back with her hands.

Matthew swallowed and nodded, unspeaking, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Peter snapped his hand around Will’s arm and hauled the boy towards the door. “We’re leaving now, too.”

Hunith nodded and watched them storm out.

“You two boys are the most ill-bred, vile little creatures in this village!” Old Man Simmons spat from where he stood rooted by the bench.

“C’mon father,” Matthew intoned gently as he tugged at the man’s fisted hand.

Merlin dug his fingers into the stones behind him.

The man stomped out at Matthew’s side, casting heated glances at Merlin.

When the door closed behind the last of their guests, Hunith whirled on Merlin, pointing her finger at his chest. “Don’t you ever get in trouble with Old Man Simmons again! I don’t ever want to see him in this house again, you hear?” she yelled.

“Now give me those horrendously muddy clothes,” she said, her voice gentling, “wash up with what water’s left in the bucket, and go to bed. You’ve caused so much trouble that you don’t deserve any supper.”

Later, when most of the mud had been cleaned out of his hair, Merlin lay in bed, thinking of the mud stains painting the pews for everyone to see when they filed into church tomorrow morning. He winced. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his mind and his magic, floating his awareness toward the chapel. He felt the velvety darkness of the night outside of the cottage, the soft dampness of rain in the air, the rustling of the sheep penned in behind Peter’s cottage for the night.

Behind the solid wooden door, the church was dark, but Merlin could feel the traces of where he and Will had capered through the aisles, over the pews, and on the pulpit. Pushing hard with his magic, he stretched out, plucking up the dried mud in the air and hurling it into the corners, so that it became nothing more than a pile of dust on the flagstone floor.

He came back to himself and fell asleep.

  
When he started awake a few hours later, clutching at his thin blanket, shivering in the cold sweat that ran in rivulets down his body, he noticed his old nightlight floating above him. He smiled at it, despite the frenzied beating of his heart. It had been awhile since he had needed it. Hunith breathed evenly across the room, apparently undisturbed by the blue shining globe of light. Merlin took several deep breaths and watched the spinning glowing light until he could fall asleep again.

///

 _Age Ten_

Arms stretched carelessly wide in the sunny summer air, Merlin turned in jerky circles, spinning around and around, as if attacking the soft ground under his feet, trampling it viciously.

“Oi! Brat, what are you doing?” Will’s strident voice broke Merlin’s battle with gravity.

His legs wobbled to a standstill and he peered at Will. “I’m seeing how many times I can turn in circles before I fall down. I just hit fifty-one!” Merlin called back in challenge.

Will frowned, a determined look settling above his eyebrows. “I can beat that! I can beat you at anything.” He fisted his hands at his hips and began stomping in circles.

Watching Will stumble in circles, Merlin crossed his arms in front of his chest with a huff. He didn’t trust Will not to cheat, so he counted aloud every time Will completed a round.

Will’s dizzying spins stopped right after Merlin called out fifty-three. He crashed sideways into the ground and Merlin leapt on top of him, laughing and grinding him down harder into the dirt. Will retaliated with a smarting fist to Merlin’s jaw.

“Hey, what was that for?” Merlin glowered and rubbed his jaw. “No reason to hit me so hard, you bully. What is wrong with you?”

Will pushed him off, jumped up, brushed the dirt from his tunic, and stalked away.

“Will!” Merlin yelled after him. His heels scuffed through the dirt as he scampered after his friend.

Merlin tugged his shoulder and Will spun around, planting his feet wide, blue eyes flashing.

“Will?” Merlin asked softly.

Will took a heaving breath and met his gaze. “Your mum’s a stupid bitch.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped and he reached out to shove Will away with his magic, but in the last second, he stopped himself from throwing his magic at him and opted for a smart right hook instead. The boys scuffled, elbows and fists ramming into stomachs and ribs in earnest. Unlike their usual tussling that was accompanied by light-hearted insults and laughter, an eerie silence beat between them.

  
Merlin stomped loudly into the cottage, ribs aching and eyes watering. Primed to launch into a loud complaint about Will, he opened his mouth but shut it promptly when he saw his mother sitting at the table, eyes focused expressionlessly in front of her.

“Mum?” Merlin halted in his tracks.

Something unreadable flashed across her face and Merlin thought that she looked tired. “Oh, Merlin I didn’t hear you come in. . . . how are things out in the western field? How’s the rye harvest?”

“It’s okay. Matthew told me they didn’t need my help anymore.”

“Oh.”

He threw his mother a questioning glance and moved to sit beside her. He’d never seen her so still before; usually she bustled around the cottage and the garden with a vibrant efficiency.

He slid next to her on the bench. “Are you alright?”

She patted her kerchief and pressed her lips together.

“What happened, mum?”

“Well I suppose you’ll have to know sooner or later. Peter asked me to marry him and I said no.”

Merlin thought of Peter’s piercing voice, his litany of complaints, his collection of swords. He thought of Peter’s strident reprimand last week when Will had not picked enough peas from the kitchen garden. He thought of the resounding slaps on the head Peter dealt to Will every week and the occasional bruise that bloomed around Will’s eye or jaw. He thought of how Will always grinned when Hunith invited him for supper, how Will raced from his house first thing in the morning when he saw Merlin unlatching the chicken coop. He rubbed his jaw.

“Why’d you say no?” She met his eyes and placed her hand over his; he noticed that her hand barely covered his anymore.

“He’s not such a nice man.”

“No, I suppose he’s not. But Will’s alright.”

“Yes, well. . . . I know it’s hard for you, Merlin, without a . . . man around.” Merlin did not need any old stupid man, he just needed Uncle Blayne back.

“But, Merlin, I can’t expect you to understand this, but I think that Peter would make neither a good father nor a good husband.”

Merlin frowned. “Will’s right mad about it.”

“Oh, well. I’m sorry, Merlin.”

///

For half a week the boys diligently avoided each other and Merlin’s days had never been so empty. Finally, early one evening, Merlin climbed their tree, sweating so hard in the humidity that the thin fabric of his tunic and trousers brushed damp against his skin. His bare feet scraped against the rough bark as he moved ever skyward. When he paused to peer up through the thick leafy branches, something small and green hit him squarely between the eyes. Merlin recognized the tightly wound wad of leaf that Will would spin between his fingernails as they sat in the tree. Two more bounced off his head. He continued climbing. When he was only a few branches below the thick one where Will perched, Will began pelting him in earnest.

“Stop being a prat, you pissant,” Merlin called out.

Will scowled at him and gazed out at the thick summer air hanging over the village and the setting sun. When Merlin swung up beside him, neither spoke. Finally Merlin reached into his large pocket and pulled out a skin of weak cider. “Here, I snagged this from the cellar.”

His jaw set firmly, his thick bottom lip pursed in a pout, Will grabbed the drink from Merlin and drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Look, take back what you said about my mum and we’re even.”

Will scoffed and kept his gaze trained on the leafy expanse of the other trees far below them.

Merlin plucked the skin from Will’s fingers and took a long swig, enjoying how the dry sweetness coated his throat.

“You know what I want, Will?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “I want you and me to live in our own cottage. We could press cider and keep bees for mead, and go bear hunting in the forest when autumn comes.”

“And wake up as late as we wanted,” Will said, his voice a low rumble.

“And not go to church on Sundays.”

“And not have to listen to Old Man Simmons ordering us about come harvest time.”

“And eat meat every day of the week.”

A companionable silence settled over the boys, as thick as the humidity in the air.

“You want to go to the swimming hole?” Will asked after a beat.

///

 _Age Twelve_

The warmth from the open fire slowly soaked into Merlin’s skin and he smiled, his whole body content and lazy. He and Will sat by a lone campfire, three fresh braces of hares by their side, bellies full from the bread, cheese, and apples that Hunith had packed for their first hunting trip together.

Merlin poked at the fire with a long stick and thought about his many trips with Uncle Blayne. Mum would bundle him up in his warmest fleece coat, and he’d skip through the woods, collecting fallen acorns in his satchel for pig feed. The woods would be bathed in auburn gold, the faraway blue sky criss-crossed with thick dark branches glimmering with the last of their leaves.

Blayne would walk beside Merlin in long strides, his crossbow ever ready on his shoulder, his tall form blotting the sun out when Merlin squinted up at him. Blayne would stop to crouch down and point out edible plants and mushrooms to Merlin. They’d pick what they could eat, dry, or pickle, being sure to leave the roots and stems so the vegetation could grow back. He taught Merlin how to spot brown bear tracks and foxes’ dens. Blayne would never hunt bigger game, though, when Merlin was with him. Whenever Merlin would beg, breathlessly wanting to take down a bear, Blayne would promise Merlin that when he was older they could hunt big game together. With Blayne, the woods that surrounded their village would be transformed from the dark unknown on the edge of Merlin’s life into something inviting that was as readable as a map.

When Blayne had left, the forest had grown dark again.

Tonight, though, with Will, the fire and the stars were enough to chase away the blackness encroaching on them.

“Merlin?” Will asked quietly, breaking Merlin’s reverie. “Why do your eyes turn gold sometimes?”

Something tight seized up inside Merlin and he heard Hunith’s voice echoing in his head: _It’s best to keep these things to ourselves, Merlin_ , and _What people don’t understand scares them_ , and _NOT IN PUBLIC, MERLIN!_ He bit his lip and turned to look at Will, afraid of what he would see there.

Will sat next to him on the log, back slightly hunched, legs splayed out in front of him. Blue eyes almost black in the darkness, Will’s face was open and curious.

For long minutes, Merlin stabbed at the fire, searching for words to express the rush of power that flowed inside him, for the instinctive way he had reached out and steered Will’s arrows straight today when he aimed for a scampering hare, for the feeling that whenever he wanted the impossible to happen—time to stop, his meat not to be burnt, people’s voices to echo more loudly, the sun-heated water in the swimming hole to be colder, cucumbers to grow bigger—he simply had to want it hard enough to make it happen.

“My mum says I’m different than most people.”

“Yeah?”

“I . . . when I want things to happen, I can change them. But . . . not always . . . not people, just things.”

“Show me.” Will’s request was soft and thrilled.

Merlin lifted the stick in his hand, bright with embers from the fire. Quieting his mind, he ordered the sparks to trace out a picture of their oak tree, stout and sturdy with its branches reaching far into the night. Deep orange glints danced in the frosty night air, aligning themselves into an image.

Will cocked his head, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “What’s that then, a fat man with a huge head of hair?”

“It’s our tree, you dolt,” Merlin chuckled as he screwed up his face to stare at the glowing orange.

Merlin frowned, stretching out his hand to smooth the leaves, but they resisted, instead curling more stubbornly in the resemblance of hair, and what should have been a branch turned up into a smiley face.

Will laughed and bumped against his shoulder.

“A fat man with a lot of hair. Yeah that’s really special, Merlin. You’re quite the artist,” Will snickered, but his laughter was light and catching and Merlin gave up his struggle with the image and returned the shoulder bump. When he turned to look at Will, he exhaled a long breath of relief that he did not even realize he had been holding. The hard stone of fear that was perpetually stationed just underneath his skin fractured slightly.

Will grinned and slung his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him in tightly. “No, really, Merlin,” he said earnestly, “that’s really cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You won’t tell anyone?”

“Nah. Why would I?”

Merlin shrugged.

“Everyone else can fuck off for all I care, Merlin.”

Merlin thought about how close Will’s face was to his, how right his arm felt over Merlin’s shoulder. He wondered what it would feel like behind Will’s lips, what he would taste like if Merlin were to lean in and press their mouths together, if he would taste like the night air.

But then a memory woke up in Merlin’s mind—he pictured Uncle Blayne standing in the morning rain, framed by his doorway, watching Matthew scurry home without looking back. He remembered the way Blayne sat up straight, shoulders taut, in church. He recalled the stares. He thought of Blayne’s words that had been so simple and yet so confusing to him: “Merlin, I may have to leave Ealdor.”

And Merlin scooted back on the log, creating a breath of space between Will and him.

///

 _Age Fourteen_

Merlin flopped dramatically onto the grass, arms and legs splayed wide. His muscles throbbed from the endless lifting required of hay harvesting. Stalks of wiry grass tickled his neck, and crickets droned close by; the insistent wet heat of late summer swarmed around him, plastering his hair to the back of his neck and forehead.

Will sauntered over. When his shadow fell on Merlin, blocking the hot sun from his face, Merlin glanced up smiling.

“You lazy git, are you going to come swimming with me? Or are you just going to lie there?”

Merlin closed his eyes, watching the red play of sunlight against his eyelids. “’S too hot to move,” he protested.

“Lazy, lazy git,” Will chanted as he dropped down next to Merlin, his arm smacking his friend hard on the shoulder. He was so close that Merlin could smell the scent of fresh-cut hay mixed with the spicy muskiness of Will’s sweat. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch and catalogue the way Will smelled, trying to come up with words to describe it so he could call it back to mind on a cold winter night when he lay alone in his bed.

Merlin opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Will; his breath caught when he realized how close their bodies lay. Merlin mapped the contours of Will’s face, his wispy brown hair, the sheen of summer sweat on his temple, the bristle of beard on his angry jaw. There was something dark and desperate under Will’s skin, something that Merlin longed to know, to hold a piece of in his hands.

When he glanced up to Will’s clear eyes, he found him staring back with an indecipherable look.

“What, do I have hay in my hair?” he asked belligerently.

“No, I . . .” Merlin frowned.

“But you do, you big slob,” Will cackled as he smacked Merlin on the side of the head, then ruffled his hair.

“Hey, bugger off!” Merlin yelled, rolling away from Will’s hand, suddenly made uncertain by the warmth tingling through him at the touch of Will’s palm. Will turned with him, pinning him with both palms planted on Merlin’s shoulders. His hips hovered above Merlin’s, knees knocking against his, ankles tangled.

Will laughed and held him in place. “You’ve got hay all over you, mate,” Will joked.

“Hey let me up,” Merlin strained against Will’s grip, as Will loomed above him, blocking the summer sunlight from Merlin’s squint. Merlin could taste Will’s nearness on his tongue and he longed to lurch forward and capture that smirking mouth with his own.

Staring at Will’s mouth and the dark bristle sprinkled over his jaw, Merlin gave up the struggle, relaxing in Will’s grip. Will lifted one hand and deftly flicked hay off Merlin’s shoulder, his fingers skimmed over his collarbone, and Merlin shuddered involuntarily. Confused, he felt a hot flush creeping up his neck as Will traced the pads of his fingertips over his sunburnt skin. The heat trickled down his body, pooling in his groin and suddenly he resumed his squirming, desperate to get away from Will, to avoid brushing against his too-close hips and muscled thigh. “Let me go, you brute!” he demanded insistently, thrashing back and forth.

“Fine, you big girl,” Will relented, pushing up and off Merlin. Merlin scrambled up, dusting himself off, frustrated by the lingering burning in his body. He huffed and turned away, hoping Will would not notice the fabric bunching below his waist. He struggled, desperately trying to think of anything else, like cleaning out the pigs’ slop bucket, anything to take his mind off the angle of Will’s jaw and his clear eyes.

  
Every day he and Will were together from morning ‘til evening when their parents called them in from the gloaming. And every nudge, every tackle, every smack upside the head and meaningless insult they hurled at each other felt like something was burning him up ever more from the inside.

In between the persistent but weightless spaces of insults, there were quiet moments, too. Subtle brushes of knuckles against skin, glances that lingered for a tick longer than necessary, slaps on the back that evolved into gentle caresses, bubbling laughs that were infectious.

  
But every time Merlin caught himself leaning forward into Will’s space, or stretching out his hand near the edge of Will’s tunic, he pulled back, remembering that rainy summer when Uncle Blayne had to leave, remembering shivering outside the barn in the mist, listening to the loud voices of the village meeting inside, remembering the way Matthew used to stand so close to Blayne, his hand always hovering at the small of Blayne’s back, or casually brushing his fingers through Blayne’s long hair when he spoke, or pressing his face close to Blayne’s when they thought no one was looking.

  
Will watched Merlin fidgeting with his frayed blue tunic, stretched out his hand as if to say something and then dropped it.

Suddenly at a loss for words, Merlin looked back towards the village, then squinted at the sun, judging the few hours before sunset. “C’mon,” he mumbled. “My mum will be angry with me if I don’t finish my chores before supper.”

“Always hiding behind your mother, you are,” Will taunted as he slapped Merlin on the shoulder, his knowing eyes seeing far too much.

“Race you home!” Merlin yelled before he took off.

///

 _Age Sixteen_

With both hands against Merlin’s left shoulder, Will shoved Merlin farther into the shadows at the back of the grain mill. Eyes crinkling up at the corners, a barely contained laugh smothered behind pressed lips, Merlin glanced back at Will as he stumbled deeper into the recesses of the dark building, knocking his right side against the stone wall.

Over the rushing whoosh of water below them bitter voices moved closer; Will shouldered Merlin’s body hard against the cool wall. Merlin’s foot slipped on the wood floor dusted with bits of grain, and he risked tumbling down, giving away their location to the three approaching men. But Will caught Merlin, a muscled arm banding around his waist, pressing Merlin’s side against Will’s solid weight, his other hand coming up to muffle Merlin’s inarticulate cry. Shoved together in the dimness like this, Will’s closeness overwhelmed Merlin.

“Shh,” he teased as Merlin laughed. “Can’t have them catch us.”

Merlin smiled at all the points of contact between Will and him—the salty warmth of his palm against Merlin’s lips, the strength of his arm at Merlin’s waist, the solidness of his body leaning into Merlin’s shoulder.

The voices threaded nearer to the entrance mere feet away—three people, Merlin counted: Old Man Simmons, Walter the miller, and Samuel Willcox. He grinned at the thought of Old Man Simmons’s shock when he had seen the pink dye staining half his sheep in intricate stripes and swirls.

“Do something, Merlin,” Will whispered urgently. “C’mon, use your fancy tricks.”

Merlin bit gently at one of Will’s fingers, encouraging him to move so he could focus his magic. Straightening up, he pulled on his powers and thought _dark_. The shadows around them thickened and one of the men cursed as they burst through the mill’s second-story entrance mere feet away from the hiding boys. Merlin frowned; they were in for a thorough thrashing if the men caught them like this. His mind nudged the shadows around him, gathering them close as he thought _invisible_ , fixating on the image of the three men staring at the blank wall behind his back, unable to see the boys. The men continued their advance, and Merlin had to suppress a laugh when Samuel stumbled into a short stack of grain sacks.

Will breathed hard next to Merlin, and he wrapped his arm over Will’s at his waist. Below them, the rushing water shoved the huge wheel around and around, causing the floorboards under their feet to tremble. Simmons kicked into a grain sack in his growing frustration and Walter snapped at him, ordering him to behave himself. They cursed the boys loudly, their stomping footfalls muffled by the rush of water underneath them.

“I swear they ran in here!”

“Perhaps your vision’s going, Simmons.”

“I know what I saw.”

Old Man Simmons stepped closer to where Will and Merlin stood, clutching at each other, grinning foolishly, trying not to breathe. When he peered directly at them and huffed, turning away with a scowl, Merlin almost ruined the whole thing by crowing triumphantly.

“C’mon then Simmons, let’s see to the sheep.” Walter said softly as he righted the sacks Simmons had knocked over.

Merlin cocked his head to meet Will’s wide grin. He inhaled his clean scent—a mixture of grass, warm sweat, and a slightly acrid smell from the dye they’d used earlier in the day. Despite their pursuers’ retreating footsteps, Will did not release his fast hold on Merlin. If anything, the powerful forearm banded around Merlin’s waist tightened significantly. The fingers of his other hand brushed lightly over the back of Merlin’s neck. Merlin glanced away, swallowing hard.

Nervous to fill the space, Merlin chattered. “Now what, Will? They’ll just go complain to my mum.”

Merlin felt Will shrug and perch his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, his face planted next to Merlin’s profile, his fingertips combing lightly through Merlin’s hair at the base of his scalp.

“Simmons will never let me live it down,” Merlin babbled.

“That old arse got what he deserved,” Will mumbled. “It was his own clumsy feet that knocked over those buckets of sheep’s milk. He had no right to yell at you like that. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before laying into you like you’re his own personal whipping boy. He’s always hated you, hasn’t he?”

Merlin nodded.

Will’s fingers continued to play at the nape of Merlin’s neck, tracing slow circles now that sent sparks of awareness down Merlin’s spine. His voice dropped a register; his lips were poised near Merlin’s ear. “We should stay in here until Simmons cools down.”

Merlin inhaled sharply. “Yeah.”

There was one very important reason why Merlin should not be standing in the shadows at the back of the mill with Will’s arm snug around him like a lifeline, with Will’s breath teasing against his ear—one reason that involved the frown creases around Hunith’s mouth, the villagers’ disembodied cries in the damp evening air, and Blayne’s poker straight back during Sunday sermons. Merlin grabbed at that reason, knew that in this one thing he should follow unspoken rules, if only to protect his mother, if only to fit the mould.

But Will’s mouth hovered just over Merlin’s ear. And then his voice washed over Merlin, causing goose bumps to break out over his scalp: “What are you afraid of Merlin?” he asked, his voice low and cocky. At the tone of challenge in Will’s voice, Merlin felt his last piece of resolve beginning to disintegrate.

Swaying into Will’s grasp, Merlin fluttered his eyes closed, blocking out everything except for Will’s body.

Will edged closer, nudging against Merlin’s neck, using his lips and teeth to scrape a line of biting kisses down Merlin’s throat. Merlin gasped at the sensation, because yes _this_ was what he had been burning for, what he would burn for. Desire laced through his veins, pulsed deep in his groin, beat high in his throat.

And then something snapped inside Merlin.

The rules could fuck off; he knew what he wanted. He turned in Will’s arms, reaching out with both hands to heave him closer, to trace the corded strength under Will’s tunic, to dig into the flesh at Will’s buttocks. Merlin closed the last breadth of space between them, locking his mouth to Will’s. The kiss was clumsy but enthusiastic, their lips sliding over each other at an angle that wasn’t quite right, their tongues tangling hungrily. Determined not to think, Merlin dragged his nails over Will’s back, urging him even closer. With quick hands, Will was yanking at Merlin’s belt as he groaned into his mouth.

Without finesse, without warning, Will’s warm, callused palm darted under the waistline of Merlin’s breeches, wrapping possessively around Merlin’s rigid cock like he owned it. And it was too much, too tight, not at all like Merlin’s own hand, but somehow just right; Merlin’s breath caught at the base of his throat as his head jerked back against the smooth stone wall. Will pulled a few strong dry strokes until Merlin circled his fingers around his wrist, stilling him.

“Wait,” he panted a little desperately, plucking Will’s hand away.

“There’s no way in hell you could convince me now that you don’t want this,” Will said on an exasperated exhale.

Merlin laughed, his high voice skittering across the cooled air in the mill. “No . . . here,” he said as he raised Will’s hand close to his lips and sucked Will’s fingers into his mouth one by one, swirling his tongue around them, smothering them with wetness. Will’s deep blue eyes widened more each time Merlin’s lips closed around a new digit. When Merlin released Will’s pinkie, he leaned forward, licking sloppy patterns into Will’s palm. Only after Will’s hand was gleaming with Merlin’s spit did Merlin pull away, grinning. “There.”

Will needed no further invitation; he undid Merlin’s breeches so they pooled around his feet, running his hands over the fine points of Merlin’s hips, spreading his fingers wide over the pale skin of Merlin’s thighs. The damp cool air rushed over his skin, and Merlin shivered when Will toyed with the pre-come glistening at the slit of Merlin’s cock before gripping him and stroking him frantically. The rhythm Will set up was new, harsh, hurried, and better than the sum total of all Merlin’s desperate fantasies. Merlin clutched Will’s shoulders, hanging onto him so tightly he almost forgot to breathe.

Will’s clothed thigh pressed into Merlin’s bare one, his hard arousal trapped between their legs, warm and insistent through the fabric. Merlin itched to reach out and bring Will off as fiercely as Will was taking him apart. Will’s other arm was banded around Merlin’s lower back, shoving their bodies together as though he feared Merlin might try to escape.

Will’s determined motions shot the terse need spiralling through Merlin higher and higher, and he exhaled shakily, sagging forward, unable to bear his own weight. His forehead rested on Will’s shoulder, his free hand grabbing at Will’s side, digging into the hard muscles at his ribs. Neither spoke; their stumbling breathing, the slick dragging of wetness under Will’s hand, the rushing stream trapped below them and the repetitive slaps of the millwheel were the only sounds filling the cool building.

Will’s arm that was locked around Merlin’s waist shifted, his hand grasping fistfuls of Merlin’s buttocks, kneading, claiming. Then he snaked a long finger down the cleft of Merlin’s ass, nudging against Merlin’s puckered skin, and that was all it took. Merlin’s balls tightened impossibly and his release tore through him, exploding outwards, tingling into his limbs.

Dizzily, he closed his hand over his own cock where Will urged the last tremors out of him. As his breathing slowed, he tugged Will’s hand away gently, tangling their fingers together, dragging the pads of his fingers over the viscous fluid coating Will’s hand. With his own come now warm on his hand, he undid Will’s leather belt and traced patterns over his flushed cock before thumbing over the crown, closing around its silky strength, and stroking hard. Will screwed his eyes shut and bucked into Merlin’s hand, coming with a deep-throated moan moments later. Merlin grinned, ridiculously pleased that he was able to affect Will so thoroughly.

When Will stepped away and a brush of air whispered between their bodies, all Merlin’s thoughts came rushing back, his mind screaming with all the reasons this was horribly wrong. But his body ached so pleasantly.

Merlin bent to pull up his breeches hastily, suddenly wary of meeting Will’s eyes, and of all the things they might have to say to each other now. When he did look up from looping his belt, he found Will grinning at him with a satisfied smirk. Merlin rolled his eyes but returned the smile. Will punched him in the arm and he turned his back on him, striding to the door.

“C’mon.” Will peered through the mill’s entrance. “You’re a mess, let’s go for a swim. The sun should be hitting the swimming hole about now and Simmons and his crew are long gone.”

And then it was just like any other afternoon in June.

///

The hours together that floated between the boys were now edged with desperation, neediness. Privacy—once something quotidian—had become a valuable commodity. They took their moments wherever they could find them—in the shelter of moss-covered walls, by the bank of the swimming hole, in the grain mill and the barn, and even high in their tree, with Will’s hand working fast, his chest plastered against Merlin, whose back scratched against the bark tread behind him.

They learned each other’s bodies quickly, eager to grasp, cling, possess, and hold.

And late at night, when memories of Blayne drifted into his head, Merlin just squeezed his eyes shut, clutched the blanket more closely around him, and tried urgently to think of something else.

  


///

 _Age Eighteen_

On a quiet day in early spring, just when the frozen ground was relaxing into mud and the villagers were beginning to break the newly thawed earth with ploughs, Will did not appear as usual at Merlin’s shoulder in the first light when he was feeding the chickens. He chewed his lip and went in to help his mum with breakfast. After Merlin had eaten and finished his morning chores, Will still had not shown up.

On his way to the field Merlin trotted over to his cottage, slowing down to a shuffle when he recognized Will’s shouting mingling with his father’s bellows. He paused for a minute, listening.

“You’re the one who chose Ealdor, who said we’d stay here.”

“Ten years is long enough, William. I’ve got no more reason to stay in this cold, grasping village filled with dour-faced women and old men. You can come with me, if you want. We’ll make a man out of you, yet. You’ll see—there’s nothing more exhilarating than the heat of battle.”

“I don’t want to go, Da.” Will’s voice was cracking like Merlin had never heard it. “Please, just stay here with me.”

“Come with me, boy. What has this miserable little town got for you other than your lily-livered friend?”

Merlin backed away. He had heard enough. And if he cursed as he set off at a dash, it was only because he knew he would be late joining the other farmers.

  
Hours later, Will sauntered over to the fields just as the workers finished gulping down their noontime meal of oatcakes and barley beer. Face flushed, he knocked against Merlin’s shoulder. “Alright, Merlin?” he asked as he passed by without looking at him, then offered to relieve Samuel from his stint behind the oxen. Merlin knew that voice—that _I won’t talk about it **ever**_ tone. So he just returned Will’s nudge and focused on manoeuvring the oxen through the field.

  
Two days later, dusk was settling in around them as they leaned into each other behind the shadows of the village’s granary, panting hard, rushing each other to completion. Abruptly, Will dropped his hand as if something had suddenly occurred to him. Merlin practically squawked in protest. “Merlin, we can go to my house.”

Merlin’s brain took a few minutes to catch up. “How’s that?”

“My da’s gone for awhile.”

“Gone?”

Will shrugged. “He’s off on some fool’s mission to join Cenred’s army. Last week he talked to someone who’d heard that the new King Cenred II is gathering forces to wage war against the northern border with Circind,” he scowled. “He said he’ll be back before winter. I bet he’ll be back much sooner with his tail between his legs and some little scratch he’s calling a war wound. The glory of battle, my arse.”

“This means,” he whispered, his breath hot against Merlin’s ear, “that we can be alone whenever we want.”

///

The summer after Will’s father left stood out in Merlin’s memory as by far the busiest of his life.

Late July sported rainy skies, which kept the plants growing and the villagers soaking wet as they wrestled the sheep for shearing. August brought warm, dry afternoons for harvesting. The villagers sweated from sunrise to sunset in the fields. They barely had time to harvest the abundant wheat and rye, and tend to their own teeming kitchen gardens.

Few had time to worry about Will’s welfare except for Merlin. Will set his jaw and went about filling the space his father had left behind as best he could, struggling to keep up with his bountiful kitchen garden and his small flock of sheep. But when he caught beans rotting on the vine, hares burrowing through his thistle to feed on the turnips, or a sheep scratching itself bare with his horn due to an irritation, Will kicked out at the offence and stomped off.

So if Merlin spent fewer evenings with his mum, and more time with Will in his garden or among his sheep, then it was only natural, he tried to explain to his mum, because his friend needed his help. Merlin stopped coming home at night; it was all the boys could do to fall sprawled across each other into bed, weary from pushing their muscles and sinew to the physical limit. In affectionate, sweaty exhaustion, they would slowly jerk each other off, mouths shifting against throats, hips stuttering together. Then, too tired to clean up, they would doze into a hazy sleep, only to be woken mere hours later by the rooster crowing in the fading dark.

After washing himself with splashes of water and magic, jerking on his clothes, and skimming a quick kiss over Will’s sleepy lips, Merlin would stumble home. Hunith’s raised eyebrows and worry lines across her forehead were the only reprimand he received as he ducked his head and rushed to start his morning chores.

Occasionally she would invent some pretence for him to spend his late afternoons with her. “Let William fend for himself for a day, this cabinet door needs repairing,” she would admonish him.

Quietly darning by candlelight, she would ask after Will’s crops and his sheep, her voice blank and tired, as if there was something else she’d rather be asking Merlin.

“Really Merlin,” she said one night, “You’re wearing yourself much too thin just to help William.”

“Mum,” he protested, “Will would do the same for me if God forbid something happened to you. His dad deserted him on a whim. He needs all the help he can get, especially from his best friend.”

“What he needs, Merlin, is a wife,” she stated with conviction, raising her eyebrows to emphasize her point. “Young Margaret is very sweet on him. She’d accept an offer from him with very little courtship.”

Merlin blushed, worried that she guessed what passed between them. “You used to say the same thing to Uncle Blayne,” he snipped, but then he flushed when he realized the accuracy of the comparison.

Hunith slammed her palm hard against the armrest of her wooden rocker. “Merlin! Do not speak ill of your departed uncle.”

“But Mum, he’s not departed; he could be out there somewhere. . .”

“Merlin!” she said again, with a tremor in her voice. “It’s best if we don’t speak of Blayne. He chose his own life, and it didn’t involve Ealdor.”

“He didn’t _choose_ his own life, Mum! He was forced to leave.”

She shook her head. “That’s immaterial. Besides, you have to watch yourself; you never know who may be listening.” She picked up her darning, refusing to meet his eyes.

“No, Mum, I know who’s listening. A big fat nobody!” he countered, stepping away from the cabinet, hands shaking, “Why can’t I talk about Uncle Blayne?”

“Because I told you not to. We have to be careful,” she whispered urgently, as if the shadows flickering in the candle flame were spies. Merlin saw the fear lining her face and hunching her shoulders and he stepped back, holding up his palms in a conciliatory gesture. He had to be the man of the house, Uncle Blayne had always said, and that meant it was his responsibility to make sure his mum was safe and happy. So if agreeing with her occasionally or not mentioning somebody who was long gone provided her a modicum of relief, then it was his duty as a man to do what she said.

He shrugged, backing down. “I’ll make sure and tell Will that Margaret is interested in a courtship.” He turned back to the fastening of the smooth wood and grimaced, smarting at the thought of Will’s hands on anyone’s hips but his.

///

The heavy jug of mead banged against Merlin’s thigh as he trotted to Will’s house under the setting sun. The late autumn wind slapped his cheeks, and his mouth watered as he imagined tasting the warm honeyed beverage thick on his tongue. He tightened his grip around the handle and shot a wave of warmth into the jug, so he and Will could spare themselves the time heating it over the hearth.

Will’s house was still. After calling out Will’s name and peering into his darkening kitchen garden, Merlin happily set about pouring the steaming drink into two earthen mugs. The sweet warm scent of honey wafted up to him, and he grinned to himself.

He stoked the fire, stripped off his coat, and collapsed on the bench. And then he noticed it. Hanging from the frame Will usually planted in the garden as a scarecrow during the summertime was a long coat of mail covered by a worn tunic bearing Cenred’s coat of arms.

Merlin shivered, eyeing the armour.

Was Will planning to follow his father after all? Was he leaving Merlin to go fight? He shoved up, suddenly no longer tired, and paced over to the gear, fingering it, examining it while sipping from the mug in his hand.

The wooden door banged and Will strode into the cottage, his usually animated face curiously blank.

“Oi,” he said dully, “don’t spill all over that.”

Merlin frowned at him. “Were you planning on leaving then and not telling me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Will sighed, running a hand through his hair. He walked over to Merlin, plucked the mead from his hand and took a long draught.

“I’ve poured you your own, you know.” Merlin gestured towards the table. “Samuel gave me a jug from his fresh store because I helped him catch his pig that had wandered off.”

Will finished drinking and handed back the empty mug. He turned his back on Merlin and stepped away, but Merlin reached out and snagged the sleeve of Will’s grey tunic.

“Will, why is this armour here?” Merlin asked in a quiet voice, as if he were afraid of hearing the answer.

“Bloke came by this morning, said he fought alongside my father. Said it was his.” Will swallowed, refusing to meet Merlin’s gaze. Merlin dropped his hand on his sleeve. “Said he fell in battle two months ago, fighting Cenred’s war. Said my da wanted me to have his armour, to . . .” Will’s voice turned bitter, “always remember what it meant to be a man.”

Merlin stared, his mouth and mind empty.

Neither boy spoke.

Finally bracing one hand on the table behind him as though he needed the support to stop himself from falling, Will straddled the bench. Cupping the second mug of mead between his chapped hands, he stared at the floor in front of him.

“But . . . your da said he’d be back by winter.”

“Yeah, well that’s one last lie he left me with. Stupid pissant.” Will downed the warmed contents of his mug in one go.

Merlin moved to stand behind Will, refilled their mugs and waved a hand over them, willing them to heat. Tentatively he placed a palm on Will’s shoulder. “Will,” he said lowly, “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. The piece of shit couldn’t even keep himself from getting killed.” A muscle in Will’s jaw jumped. “I should have been there with him. I should have gone, Merlin. . . . He wanted me there.”

Merlin slapped him lightly on the back of the head and then set about rubbing his shoulders. “Why? So you could have died with him?”

Will jolted up, knocking his knee loudly against the bench as he spun around to face Merlin, heat radiating off him. “What would you do, Merlin? What would you do if it was your mother who’d gone off on some fool’s errand? You would do anything to protect her! I screwed up Merlin, I’ve gone and cocked it all up.”

Merlin shook his head forcefully, holding his palms out in front of him, as if he could stop Will’s thoughts with a gesture. “No, Will. Your father was a grown man, just as you are. He was able to take care of himself.”

“No, don’t you see, he wasn’t,” Will’s voice was growing louder as he gestured grandly with his hands.

“Will, _you_ are not responsible.”

“He asked me to come with him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you had to.”

“I should have.”

“Stop blaming yourself, Will,” Merlin said, his voice increasing in volume to match Will’s. “You’re _not_ at fault here!”

“And what would you know about it? He _needed_ me and I wasn’t there.” Will took a step closer, pushing his chest into Merlin’s outstretched palms.

“Look,” Merlin exhaled, trying to sound calm and reasonable but failing utterly. “Your father was a selfish bastard who never listened to anybody else, remember? Most days you hated him. Life has been better without him. Stop thinking you cocked it up.”

“God! Just shut. The. Hell. Up!” Will ground out as he grabbed hold of Merlin’s shoulders, yanking him closer.

“Not until you stop blaming yourself for your father’s stupidity.”

Will sealed his mouth to Merlin’s with bruising force, stopping the words in his throat, damming the accusations spilling out of Merlin’s mouth, cutting off the sounds that should have been comfort. Jamming their bodies together as if he could just shove Merlin out of his life, Will pushed him across the room until the backs of Merlin’s knees collided against Will’s narrow bed and he collapsed onto it.

Will’s body toppled onto him, his solid weight knocking the air from Merlin’s lungs. Merlin scrabbled his hands up to Will’s back, clutching at the muscles under his tunic. Then Will’s mouth was on him, drawing angry marks down Merlin’s neck, biting at his collarbone while his hands impatiently tore at Merlin’s belt buckle and the laces of his breeches.

He shoved up from the bed, shucking his own trousers and gesturing towards Merlin with a muffled “Get naked now,” as he pulled his tunic over his head. Tugging at his clothes, Merlin compiled, anxious to feel the press of skin on skin, uncertain what the unfamiliar edge in Will’s voice signalled.

Will tumbled back onto Merlin, chest sliding against Merlin’s, hands raking over his ribs, eyes locking intently with Merlin’s. Neither spoke. Their erections jutted together, and Will encircled them with strong fingers, jerking them both hard, causing Merlin’s hips to stutter against the tightness between Will’s hand and the smooth firmness of his dick.

“Shit, Merlin, I have to be inside you right now,” Will groaned as he shifted off him, reaching for the bottle of oil under the bed.

Before Merlin could breathe, Will was back, slicking his cock messily with one hand, dripping oil over Merlin’s balls, rubbing it into his entrance with the other. Will increased the pressure on his hole maddeningly, sliding in and out again, wetly piercing into him, creating space with his blunt fingers for his eager cock; when he pulled away, Merlin made a keening sound in the back of his throat.

Merlin’s heart tapped wildly in his chest and he sucked in air. Yanking Merlin’s legs onto his shoulders, Will planted his knees firmly between Merlin’s exposed thighs, swooping low over his chest, banding one arm securely around Merlin’s lower back, pressing their sweaty skin together. Then, with a moan, he surged so far into him that his balls cradled Merlin’s sensitive crack. Merlin cried out, his back arching off the bed.

This they had done only a few times before—Will carefully pressing into Merlin, opening him gently, entering him inch by inch, panting against his back or into his mouth as he pushed them both higher until they fell apart.

But it had never felt anything like it did now. Merlin’s muscles screamed at the sensation of Will’s cock throbbing so deep inside him, filling him so completely. As Merlin’s body clenched everywhere—the muscles in his feet, his thighs, his stretched entrance, his jaw, his fists—Will paused, running a hand over Merlin’s cheekbones. “Stay with me, Merlin,” he said so lowly that the hollow whistle of the wind struggling to enter the cottage almost swallowed it up.

And Merlin looked up at him, saw the strain lining Will’s face, the clear blueness of his eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead, and he feared that his fierce desire for this man would consume him. He wanted Will—all of him. He huffed an exhale, relaxed, uncoiled, let Will fill him up. Will’s lips quirked into a crooked smile and he traced his oily fingers over Merlin’s cheekbone once more. Then, Merlin was being deliciously pulled apart by the unforgiving rhythm Will set up. Every thrust jolted through him, his balls brushing against Merlin’s tender entrance as he rocked into him. Need twisted low in his gut, spiked through his limbs, tingled up his spine, pulsed hard in his cock that twitched against his stomach, begging for release.

Merlin lowered his legs, locking them fiercely around Will’s waist, pulling his cock in deeper, his hands circling Will’s biceps, his fingers clawing into Will’s skin so he could hold on as he pounded into him, slamming Merlin into oblivion, his thick cock fracturing Merlin into tiny pieces, into miniscule specks of energy.

Above him, Will’s face flushed deep red; eyes crinkling around the corners, he gazed down at Merlin almost wildly. And Merlin thought he loved him most this way—unguarded, mad, focused. And then Will was coming hard, shouting incoherently, collapsing sweaty and heavy onto Merlin’s chest.

Aching to be touched, Merlin reached for his own cock, but Will slapped his hand away as he gently edged himself out of Merlin’s roughened hole. He threw Merlin a cocky grin and then, almost lazily, as if he had all day to keep Merlin on the brink of release, he began to play his fingers in and out of Merlin’s come-filled asshole. The slow torture threatened to destroy him. Merlin tilted his hips up, urging his ass towards Will’s teasing twisting fingers, trying to get closer to that edge; he ground out Will’s name on an aggravated sigh, but Will just grinned more widely. Finally, _finally_ after long moments, Will wrapped his other hand solidly around Merlin’s straining arousal and began to take Merlin apart in earnest. Fearful of what might come out of him—words, noises, magic—Merlin fisted his own hand in his mouth, biting white marks into his knuckles.

Will shook his head, never looking away from Merlin’s face as he tugged Merlin’s hand out of his mouth. Wanting to be closer, his hand jumped to Will’s shoulder and he rolled into him so they lay on their sides chest to chest, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. Merlin raked his teeth over Will’s stubbled jaw as Will’s hands worked over Merlin, his knuckles grazing against both their abdomens.

Then Merlin was shuddering, spinning high on the dizzying pleasure of Will’s grip, spasming into his hand, painting Will’s chest with his come.

“Shit,” Merlin whispered, flopping back on the bed, giving himself over to the tingling in his body.

Silence hovered between them and then Merlin was half-sitting up, unable to stop touching Will, feeling that he could lie naked with him for weeks. His fingertips traced patterns in his own come, fluttering over the firm muscles and smooth skin of Will’s abdomen. Will inhaled sharply, and Merlin glanced up—searching his face; a quiet had settled over his features. Merlin dipped forward, following his fingers with his tongue, licking at the come smeared over Will’s chest. In his mouth, his own saltiness mixed with Will’s sweat and he thought it was ridiculous how happy those tastes made him.

With his lips pressed lightly over Will’s nipple, Merlin spoke in a hushed, almost reverent voice. “I love you, you know.”

Will cuffed him on the forearm and dragged him down to lie flat on the mattress, slinging his arm over Merlin, hauling him back against the solid wall of his chest.

  
The rooster’s cry broke into Merlin’s awareness and he shook it off, burrowing his face into Will’s scratchy neck, stretching an arm across Will’s broad chest.

Merlin lay there for long minutes in the soft grey light before dawn, feeling Will’s chest rise and fall under his palm. The rooster crowed again and he peeled one eye open, surprised to see Will awake, staring blankly up at the thatched roof.

“You’re right, you know,” Will said without looking at him. “I’m not responsible for my father’s death. King Cenred is.”

///

“Will’s a good lad, but . . .” Hunith smiled tightly, suppressing a critique under the thin line of her lips.

Merlin took the bowl she handed him and wiped it dry with the threadbare cloth in his hand. “Mum,” he protested weakly, “he’s my best friend.”

“I know, dear, I know. And he’s a good lad. He’s done well in these months since his father passed. It’s just that he’s as brash and reckless as his father was. I wish he would settle down, stop causing the other villagers so much worry. Why, just the other day he told Margaret that she was spending so much time with her goats that she was beginning to look like them.”

Biting his lip to keep back his laughter, Merlin stacked the bowl methodically in the cupboard and took the next one she handed him. Through the kitchen window the watery sunlight of late winter splashed in and caught the grey streaking through his mother’s hair. She looked tired, concerned, old even.

How could he explain Will to her? How could he let her know that underneath all his bluff, Will had a heart so big that it barely fit in his chest, that it hurt him?

“Margaret was practically assaulting him! He was just trying to defend himself.”

“Oh, posh. That girl’s the prettiest thing that ever took an interest in Will and he’d be lucky to court her.” Merlin felt the blush creeping hot over his neck. He turned away, hiding his face by staring outside.

“Merlin, Will would do very well with Margaret,” she said as she set down the bowl in her hand. There was a note in her voice that made him fidget with the sleeve of his tunic, suddenly feeling hopelessly like a five-year-old boy. It was the firm tone she used when she’d learned about a prank he had pulled, or a scrape he’d gotten into with the other villagers. It was her _I’m disappointed in you, Merlin_ voice that she had perfected so well.

“You’ll need a wife someday, too, Merlin.” She spoke carefully.

Merlin shrugged.

“If you were to choose a wife to come live here with us, that would make me very happy.”

Merlin stayed silent, slumping against the wall behind him, tapping the stone behind him with nervous fingers.

“Isn’t there anyone you’re interested in?” Hunith asked softly, as if she were approaching a skittish horse.

“Mum, what are you trying to say? You know there’s no girl I’m interested in. Do you see me walking with any girls in the evening?”

“No, I see you walking with Will,” she said flatly.

Merlin crossed his arms. “There, see, no girls, no potential daughters-in-law,” he said with false brightness as though he could escape this conversation if he just sounded happy enough.

Hunith stepped closer to Merlin, settling her palm against his cheek. Trapped by her searching gaze, he looked into her face drawn with worry, eyebrows pulled together, her usually soft mouth nothing more than a hard line. Something inside him began to panic, his blood beating faster through his veins, his legs desperate to run. _She knew_.

“I saw you and Will the other day, when you were behind the mill,” she said in a quiet, tired voice. “I saw you . . . kissing him.” She dropped her hand from his face and turned away.

Merlin said nothing, panic closing his throat. He had failed her; he read it in her face.

“Do you know how dangerous it would be if someone caught you?” she hissed urgently, suddenly animated, whirling back to look at him. “It’s an unspeakable sin against God, and against nature for two men to . . . ”

“Do you really believe that Mum?” Merlin asked heatedly. “Did you agree with the preacher when he used to make those speeches? You think that I’m not only this magical freak, but that I’m a sinner, too?”

“It doesn’t matter if I believe it; everyone else does. Time and time again, Cenred has made an example of sodomites in this kingdom. Even if the rest of the world is godless, we still follow the church,” she said slightly more gently. “How could . . . why . . . you’ve got to stop this mad behaviour,” she concluded stiffly.

Running both hands through his hair and sliding away from her, Merlin searched for words, wanted to tell her how scared he was, how he had tried to stop, how for weeks as he was falling asleep, the memory of the villagers' angry cries had echoed in his head, how he had never wanted to hurt her.

“I love Will, Mum,” he confessed shakily. “I don’t know if I can stop.”

“Please, Merlin, please try,” she pleaded.

“It’s not that simple.”

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Merlin, just _stop_ kissing him and . . . and whatever else you’re doing with him.”

“You’re not getting it. You can’t just stop loving someone!” His voice was climbing higher, twisting away from his control.

“Well, you’ve certainly stopped loving me, if this is how you’re behaving,” Hunith snapped.

“Mum,” Merlin said more softly as he stepped up to lay a hand on her shoulder. He waited a beat, reeling in his rising frustration. “I _do_ love you. I just . . . can’t help myself with Will. What if . . . what if I was born this way? What if I’m not meant to marry a woman? What if it’s like . . . like my magic and it’s just how I am?”

Hunith shook her head as though she were weighing the idea in her head and found it lacking. “No, that just doesn’t . . . make sense.”

“Does my magic make any sense? I was born with that.”

When she did not respond, he continued, the words rushing out of his mouth. “And Uncle Blayne? Maybe he was born this way too?”

At the mention of her twin brother, she flinched and fell silent. Neither spoke—the only sound the crackling of the hearth fire behind them.

“This is entirely my fault,” Hunith said in a small voice on the verge of breaking. “I just loved my brother too much, and I let him stay, even though I knew what he was doing was . . . was wrong. And now . . . you’re acting just like he did, and it’s all my fault because I shouldn’t have let him help me raise you. Even long after he’s deserted me, he’s still managing to make me miserable.”

Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes, and Merlin was torn between wanting to rage at her and wanting to take her in his arms and smooth his hand over her hair.

Unmoving, he stood several feet away from her, hands balled into fists at his side.

Wiping at her tears, she sat down on the bench by the hearth, pulling her shawl close around her. The firelight painted warm designs on her cheeks and brow as she gazed into it. Merlin watched her, knowing he could never give up Will, wondering what he could ever do to make this right by her.

He turned and slipped out of the house.

  
When Merlin arrived at Will’s cottage that night, he dragged Will to him wordlessly. Will came easily to crush against him, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair, tracing his thumbs over cheekbones.

“What’s up?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

Merlin just shook his head and fisted his hands into Will’s tunic, pressing his mouth to Will’s insistently, shoving their hips together. Will pulled back, his clear blue eyes scanning Merlin’s face.

“Alright,” he said gently as he dropped to his knees in front of Merlin and made short work of his trouser lacings.

///

Merlin had been six when the summer of the ruined harvest hit Ealdor.

In April, over half the sheep had died of wood sickness, a lightning-quick disease that had left them nothing more than stinking, infected carcasses on the hills, their meat and wool uselessly rancid.

In August, sheets of rain and hail had pelted down for weeks, destroying the village’s wheat and rye fields. Struggling against the onslaught from the heavens, the villagers had brought in the soaked harvest, only to find the whole crop lost, the fragile grain ruined.

When Merlin later looked back on that summer, he remembered it as the idlest summer of his life. He had sat in the house most days, looking out at the muddy fields and the unrelenting rain, fiddling with a small wooden sheep that Blayne had carved for him. He remembered his mother sending him on pointless errands just to get him out of the cottage. He remembered his belly protesting as the food portions shrunk daily.

And he remembered Sunday sermons.

The beady-eyed priest would pound a bony fist on the pulpit and fulminate about sodomites. The first time it had happened, Hunith had frowned and covered Merlin’s ears. Next to her, Blayne’s back had stiffened. Afterwards, the congregation had filed out silently, pulling long faces and glancing at each other with narrowed stares.

The second time it had happened, Merlin had indignantly pushed his mum’s hands away as they tried to shield him. He deserved to know, too, he had communicated with a glare. She had shrugged and sighed, having long ago learnt to relent in the face of that particular glare. So he had listened as the priest had raged about unnatural, unspeakable acts that occurred between men in this very village. The rage in his voice had rung out in the small chapel and Merlin had felt it reverberating in his chest, loud and restless.

It had happened a third time and a fourth time as a rainy August gave way to an even rainier September. Merlin had dragged his feet whenever they went to church, beside him Blayne walked stiffly, but his hand was warm around Merlin’s tiny fingers.

Most of Blayne’s friends—laughing young men—had stopped dropping in and they had no longer smiled at Merlin and Hunith when they passed in the village. Only Matthew had still occasionally visited Blayne, late in the evenings after Merlin and Hunith had gone to sleep. Lying in bed, Merlin would hear the gentle tenor of Matthew’s voice outside Blayne’s door.

One morning when Merlin had been ducking the raindrops to race to the chicken coop and gather the morning’s eggs he had seen Blayne framed by his open doorway, standing unmoving as he watched Matthew shuffle home, shoulders hunched forward. Without the usual lines of laughter gracing his face, Blayne had looked suddenly old to Merlin. Blayne’s mouth had creased into a frown as he had gazed at Matthew’s retreating back. Leaving the door of the coop open, Merlin had momentarily forgotten the morning’s eggs and dashed around the corner of the high thistle hedge that edged the kitchen garden.

Skidding up to Blayne’s door, he had stuck his tiny hand out for Blayne to hold. Blayne had looked down at him, a half-smile playing over his lips. “Alright, Merlin?” he had asked as his large fingers closed around Merlin’s thin ones.

Merlin had nodded and looked up at Blayne speculatively. He knew there were questions his mum did not want him asking, things he was not supposed to say. But he had wanted to know.

“Uncle Blayne, why are you sad?” he had asked in a small voice. Blayne had looked down at him, the bags etched under his gray-blue eyes standing out in stark contrast to his pale face.

“I’m sad, Merlin, because . . . well because the harvest has been bad.”

“Me, too.” Merlin had frowned.

Blayne had paused, looking away to stare blankly at the sheets of rain falling. “I’m sad because people are . . . upset about the harvest.”

“And Matthew, is he sad, too?” Merlin had asked quietly.

Blayne had nodded jerkily and pressed his lips together in a tight line. Then he had looked down, hitting Merlin with the full focus of his gaze. “Listen, Merlin, I may have to leave Ealdor.”

Two days later Old Man Simmons and his wife Elizabeth had called for a village meeting in the empty grain barn. Against her strict orders, Merlin had snuck out after Hunith left. Shivering against the mist in the damp evening air, he had stood by an open window.

Old Man Simmons’s voice, full of bluster and thunder, had pierced the still evening air. He had fumed about Cenred’s harsh punishments of sodomy; the words _adhering to our religion_ , _God’s punishment_ , _trial by water_ and _burned at the stake_ had soared out through the window to Merlin. When he had strained to hear more, willing his magic to help him, his hearing had been flooded with the stamp of feet, the clatter of makeshift weapons, and cries about acts against nature, a ruined harvest, and God’s retribution. Startled, he had dashed away.

///

For days Merlin and Hunith were studiously polite, moving in the space around each other, mutually avoiding speech whenever possible. The sleepy winter cold settled into the walls of their cottage and into the silences between them.

When Merlin bundled himself into his fleece jacket every evening after supper, he pretended he did not see the pained expression filling her eyes. When he returned before dawn to help her fix breakfast and feed the animals, he kept his head down and his hands busy.

///

 _Age Nineteen_

By the time the intractable chill of winter relented to spring, Merlin and Hunith had worn themselves thin with repetitive, aborted arguments about Will and long weeks of silence; finally they settled into an uncomfortable stalemate. As long as Merlin slept the occasional night at home, as long as he sat quietly next to her at church on Sunday mornings, as long as he sometimes chatted affably with the village girls his age, then Hunith overlooked the soft snick of the door behind him when he dashed off to Will’s after drying the supper dishes.

///

Merlin groaned above Will, riding him hard, focusing on his movements beneath him—the erratic rise and fall of his chest in the afternoon sunlight, the rhythmic bucking of his hips, the clutching of his hands on Merlin’s hipbones, the appreciative grin breaking across his face.

Distantly he registered a door banging shut.

But it was the sudden screeching of his name that made him jerk his head around to stare at his mother rooted in the entranceway of Will’s cottage, her face deathly pale, her eyes glittering with an emotion he had never seen before in her face.

Will swore loudly, scrambling to move out from under Merlin, his cock popping out of him with a wet, loud, undignified sound.

Merlin felt as though he had been tossed abruptly into freezing water—his skin was crawling, his heart trying to beat its way out his chest, his mind screaming _get away now_.

Hunith began speaking and Merlin looked up to see that her back was turned to them. “Merlin, I need to have a word with you at home _now_ ,” she said in a hurried voice before dashing out the door.

Will chuckled beneath him and Merlin slapped him upside the head. “What’s so bloody funny?”

“You’ve turned yourself invisible, Merlin.”

  
Minutes later, face colouring a deep shade of red, Merlin crept into the cottage he shared with Hunith. She stood by the kitchen table, folding clothes with quick, nervous hands.

“Really, Merlin, have you no shame?” she huffed. “It’s the middle of the day!”

“Well, why the hell were you barging in on us, then?”

She took a deep, steadying breath and lowered her voice. “Fine. Listen, Merlin. This thing between you and Will _cannot_ go on any longer. Absolutely not.”

“So, we’re back here again?” Merlin asked tightly.

“Elizabeth Simmons came to speak to me about an hour ago. _Betsy Simmons!_ Old Man Simmons’ wife.”

“Yes, Mum, I know who she is,” Merlin bit out.

“She was in the woods collecting mushrooms this morning when she saw you and Will kissing,” Hunith hissed. “Merlin, this is not discreet.” Her hands made flailing motions at her sides. “Have you forgotten what happened to Blayne? All people like Elizabeth need is one little excuse to turn the whole town against you. Don’t think for one minute she’s not going to spread the story to everyone else in this village. You’re going to get yourself killed.” His mind flashed back to this morning and the lazy kisses he and Will had shared on the riverbank.

Merlin flushed an even darker shade of red. “What would you have me do, Mum? I love him,” he said quietly, suddenly overwhelmed. There truly was no way out of this.

“I don’t know, Merlin. I’ll think of something. For now, just keep your head down.”

///

A month had passed since the day that had scarred his mind, the event that Merlin referred to solely as _the incident_. Neither he nor Hunith mentioned it, and he had not bothered to tell Will what Hunith had said about Elizabeth Simmons, whose answer would be—everyone can fuck right off. But Merlin felt the villagers’ eyes lingering coldly on them as they went about their communal tasks. Once he caught Matthew staring at him when he thought Merlin wasn’t looking. Merlin met his gaze and Matthew started, shaking off the faraway look that had settled around his eyes.

  
And then on a brisk spring morning, the peddler Thomas stopped in the village on his yearly rounds. Children hurried to where he set up his display of sparkling jewellery, pottery, spices, salts, and nuts. The workers came out of the fields, too, the women fingering the chains and pendants he had, the men examining his collection of the newest farm tools. Thomas chatted easily with the villagers, bartering with them, accepting their trades of meats, cheeses, and hand-made goods.

When he spotted Merlin standing on the edge of the crowd, he called out to him. “Oi! Merlin, I’ve got something for your mum!” Without pausing in his haggling, Thomas dug into his satchel, pulling out a thickly folded letter to hand to Merlin. He slapped him affectionately on the back and turned back to his customers.

  
The next morning, Hunith reached out to grasp Merlin’s hand when he stood to clear the breakfast table.

“The dishes can wait for a moment, Merlin.”

“What’s wrong, Mum?” he asked dully. He didn’t know if he had the energy for another fight about Will this morning.

“Merlin, it’s about that letter I received yesterday.”

“Oh?”

“You see, I’ve been thinking, Merlin.”

“Okay,” he said warily.

She paused, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about being born you know . . . this way,” she gestured incoherently with her hands. “And I started thinking, if it wasn’t Will, it would be some other man.” Merlin opened his mouth to interrupt her, but she held out her hand. “Hear me out, Merlin.”

He nodded, slumping back into his seat.

“Maybe you’re right, maybe you can’t help it. Maybe . . . it’s not this horrible sin as King Cenred and the church would have us believe. Maybe Uncle Blayne wasn’t committing any wrong either. But,” her voice grew firm, “the fact remains that you don’t belong here. People will start to think you’re untrustworthy; they’ll start to blame you and Will for things they can’t control. We both know; we’ve seen it before. You’re such a special boy, Merlin,” she said softly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “I’ve always known that.”

She paused as though searching for words. “But not everywhere is like Ealdor. The church and its teachings have no hold in other lands. There are places I’ve heard about—one place in particular where men are known to love each other openly,” she blushed at the phrase, “without shame or censure. My . . . your . . . a friend told me about it. In Camelot, the castle at the heart of King Uther’s kingdom, the knights are known for consorting with each other, and the king finds no fault in it. I have an old friend there. A man who was . . . is like you . . . in many ways. Once he was the close companion to the king himself.” She reddened, the words tripping out of her mouth. “He also practiced sorcery before it was outlawed there; he’s one of the few sorcerers I still know. It will be best if you go live with him, learn from him.”

“I don’t understand. You’re sending me away?” Merlin asked, unable to follow her quick patter of words.

“It will be for the best, Merlin.” She paused, her brow contracting into a line of worry. “You’ll have to be more careful with your magic in Camelot. I thought long and hard about this, but Gaius assured me . . . well, he hinted that he would take care of you and guide you in concealing your sorcery.” She worried at her lip.

“But . . . but what if I don’t want to go?”

Hunith crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I see how the villagers look at you already. What’s your life going to look like here, Merlin? Think about it and tell me honestly, what will your life be here in ten years time?”

He frowned at her mutely. Merlin did not want to think about it, about how his days would play out in the fields of Ealdor, about what his life would look like in ten years.

She huffed and uncrossed her arms, reaching out to hold his hand again. “I only want what’s best for you, Merlin,” she said so earnestly that he flinched.

“I’m not going somewhere I have to hide my magic.”

“Merlin,” she sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve already been doing that here for years. In Ealdor people are suspicious of anything they don’t understand, including magic. In Camelot, magic is outlawed outright. But what—you know, what you and Will do—is not. I don’t see much of a difference in these two things, except that in Camelot you’ll be able to do openly at least one of the things that you have to hide here.”

“But you want to send me to some old man to learn about magic in a place where it’s outlawed? That’s what ridiculous, not me,” he retorted.

“I know how it sounds Merlin. I know. I wish I could think of something better. But we don’t have many options right now. Gaius is one of my most trusted friends outside of Ealdor. My only trusted friend, really. I want to know that you have someone to guide you. I want to know that I will be able to fall asleep at night without having nightmares of you ending up on the wrong end of Old Man Simmons’ pitchfork.”

“You don’t think I could handle Old Man Simmons and his pitchfork?”

“How, Merlin, with magic?” she asked, her voice shaking. “You are not safe here, anymore, Merlin! I _need_ to know you’re safe.”

“I’m not leaving Will.”

Hunith shrugged, deflated. “I’m not saying you have to. Maybe he’ll want to go with you.”

Startled, Merlin cocked his head, meeting her tired blue eyes. “You mean you won’t mind if I ask him to come along?”

She shook her head. “Just don’t . . . just promise me you won’t tell him why,” she said with surprising urgency.

“What? Why not?”

“If he chooses to stay in Ealdor,” Hunith spoke slowly as though choosing her words carefully. “If he doesn’t go with you, I don’t want him thinking I sent you away on his account.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re doing,” he protested.

“Yes, but I’m the one who has to live in this village, Merlin. I don’t want any more of Will’s ire than I already have. He’s such an angry man and he won’t understand. He can’t understand. He wasn’t here when Blayne was.”

“So what am I supposed to tell him?” Merlin raised one eyebrow.

“Whatever you want, Merlin, just promise me you’ll not tell Will—or anyone—the reason you’re leaving.”

He brushed his fringe out of his eyes, wondering how deeply she was ashamed of him.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “But, this is too much, you want me to leave my home, go live with some man I’ve never met.”

“Gaius,” she interrupted him. “His name is Gaius. And he’s a good man. He can guide you in so many things much better than I can.”

“Ok, you want me to go live with this _Gaius_ whom I’ve never met. And you don’t want me to tell anyone why I’m leaving.”

“Yes. It will just confuse everyone. People like Betsy Simmons, they don’t know that there are places different than Ealdor. They don’t need to know that you’re going somewhere you can be . . . who you are.”

“But I can ask Will to go with me?” Merlin said, his voice trembling.

Hunith nodded.

“I need to think about this.”

“Okay, Merlin. But I’ve already had the letter from Gaius saying you’re welcome.”

Merlin’s pulse jumped. “You’ve already contacted him?” he asked, disbelieving.

She nodded. “I thought I should go ahead and arrange things.”

“Without asking me?”

“Because your answer would have been . . . what, Merlin?” she snapped. “You need to leave, it’s not _safe_ for you here.”

“You’re exaggerating!” he tossed back. And here they were again, stuck with how differently they saw the world, left with only cross words between them.

“Merlin, this is best for you.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Then maybe you should trust me.”

Merlin sighed. “Look, Mum, I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Do more than think about it, Merlin.”

He treaded heavily out of the cottage.

 _Camelot._ With a twinge of fascination and guilt, Merlin rolled the word, shiny and new, around in his mind.

///

“You can’t be serious, Merlin. What the hell will you do there?”

“Come with me, Will.”

“To Camelot?” Something tightened in his face as Will bit out the words.

“Why would I do that? Go to some foreign court? Why’s life at court better than life here? What does Camelot have that Ealdor doesn’t? Princes? Kings? A bunch of royal asses who get off on ordering soldiers and servants around and collecting taxes and tithes? While good people like you and I put our blood and our sweat into the land? No. I’ll stay right here, I’ve got no need of royalty, Merlin.”

“Will . . . please.” Merlin heard the pleading tone in his voice, the breaking sound.

“And what would you be wanting with a royal court—and one so far away—anyway?” Will challenged.

“I . . . Look my mum thinks it’d be better for me. She’s got an old friend she wants me to stay with. I dunno,” he opened his arms wide in a gesture of futility. The weight of his promise to Hunith lay heavy over his chest.

Will glared at him.

“She’s worried about my magic. She doesn’t want anyone in Ealdor to find out.” The half-lie tripped out of his mouth with ease.

“Maybe I can learn something, Will,” he said, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. “Maybe I can be more in life than just Hunith’s queer little son who’s clumsy and doesn’t have enough muscle to make a good hay harvester, but has got a knack for pranks.”

“So being a farmer’s suddenly not good enough for you?” Will asked belligerently.

Merlin bit his lip and looked at the wide sky above Ealdor, the open expanse of blue, grey, and white that had framed his life until now. And suddenly he knew that Will was right; he wanted more.

“And you? Will you be happy here? In Ealdor where the villagers will wonder why you never married?” Merlin asked, venturing as close to the topic as he dared without breaking his promise to Hunith.

Will snorted derisively and drummed the fingers of his left hand against his thigh. “Margaret can keep waiting for me to court her until the world ends, for all I care. I couldn’t be bothered what people think.”

Merlin stepped closer, catching Will’s drumming fingers with his hand, lifting them to his mouth, placing a slow kiss on Will’s chapped knuckles. “Come with me, Will, please. Just think—there will be more people in one city than we’ve ever seen in our whole lives! It would be such a big adventure. There will be knights and the ladies will be dressed in finer silks than you’ve ever seen.”

Will frowned, yanking his hand away from Merlin’s. “Ladies in silks and knights!” he scoffed. “God, Merlin you’re acting like a girl. Knights? Do you know what being a knight means? It means being fodder for rich men’s wars.” His voice was rising in pitch. “Have you forgotten what they did to my father? How he died? He was just another body taking an arrow to keep Cenred’s war alive. And for what? For wider borders? For more land to give him tithes? To spread his religion?”

Merlin shook his head. “Maybe it’s different in Camelot, maybe it’s not as bad as Cenred’s court.”

“Now you’re just lying to yourself Merlin, if you truly believe that the king of Camelot will be any different than Cenred.”

“Will . . . I . . . please don’t do this. Come with me. We might like it.”

“No, you’re the one who’s got it wrong, Merlin. I’m not _doing_ anything to you. You’re the one who’s up and decided that you need to be rubbing elbows with princes because your mum’s got it into her head that you should go live with her old friend just so people like Simmons don’t find out about your bloody magic. You’re the one who’s leaving.”

Merlin ran both his hands through his hair in frustration. This was not how it was supposed to go. Will was supposed to grin, kiss him soundly, and ask when they could start packing.

“But you don’t even like Ealdor, Will. Why stay?”

“It was good enough for my da until he was overcome with the nonsense of fighting for Cenred; it’s good enough for me. I don’t need to be hobnobbing with fancy people. Until today it was good enough for you, too.”

“I don’t give two shits for royalty, Will!” Merlin ground out. “My mum’s ordered me to go, I _have_ to go, don’t you see?”

Will shook his head, his lips a thin line. “No I don’t see, Merlin. You’re a man now. If Hunith wants you to go, you can just disagree. What’s she going to do? You’re still hiding behind her skirts, you are.”

A familiar look settled over Will’s face—one that Merlin knew well, the look he got when he was determined to pick a fight with Simmons or when he refused to lay stones the way Willcox ordered him to or when he was set on getting Merlin naked as quickly as possible—Merlin knew that hard look, the flintiness in the eyes and the firm set of the jaw that Will inherited from his father.

Merlin would be going to Camelot alone.

He exhaled with shaky exasperation, unwilling to believe that they were unravelling so swiftly. “Don’t you care about me?” he asked in a small voice.

“You’re doing a fine job of that already. I think you only care about yourself,” Will spat out as he squared his shoulders and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Will’s accusing blue gaze bored into Merlin and Merlin scrabbled for words, for something to say that would make it right, that would make Will relent. He wondered if he should tell Will why Hunith wanted him to leave, if he really owed it to his mother to keep a promise or if owed the truth to Will. His mouth remained empty and he turned on his heel and stalked away, breaking into a fast run, not wanting to see that he had lost one last fight with Will.

Merlin ran past the chicken coop, the thistle hedge, the grazing sheep, he ran until he reached the edge of the woods, and kept going, pushing farther in. His breath pounded in his lungs, and underneath it something knotted up, pain caught high in his chest. He slowed to a walk, breathlessly clutching at his tunic, wishing so hard that it didn’t have to be this way.

Spring was peeking up everywhere in the soft ground of the forest. Creamy buttercups and fragile violets were sprouting in patches; Merlin smiled at them and wondered what spring would be like in Camelot, if it would be different than the slow awakening in Ealdor that he loved to catalogue.

He kept walking on the forest path, fingers snagging at twigs or running through the feathery branches of pines. He thought of basking in the campfire on his hunting trips with Blayne, and then later with Will. He thought of the first time he met Will—all full of bluff, rivalry, and eager blue eyes. He thought of all the times that Will had snapped at Old Man Simmons when he had a harsh word or a brusque slap for Merlin. He thought of Will’s bold laugh as he dunked Merlin under the sun-warmed water of the swimming hole, and the breathless kisses he showered over Merlin’s wet face, neck, and shoulders after he resurfaced. He thought of the sensation of fistfuls of Will’s fine hair in his hands as he rocked against him, perched over him.

He thought of the things that Will knew about him that no one else did: how he protested shrilly whenever they had to slaughter one of the chickens, how rainy harvest days still gave him nightmares, how coriander made him sneeze, how magic burned inside of him. If only he could string all the moments they had spent together—the long afternoons sweating over a plough, bundling hay, threshing wheat, shearing sheep; the evenings splashing in the swimming hole, tangling feet on the highest branch of their oak, planning pranks in staged whispers; the nights spent together pressing skin to skin, loving each other so hard that there was nothing left of them but openness and a pulse, curling into each other as they slept, waking up with numbness tickling up his arm pinned under Will and with soreness blooming up his back—if he could string those moments together and press them deep into his pocket, keep them with him forever, then maybe he could bring himself to leave Ealdor.

He thought, too, of the fretting that lined his mother’s face, directly above her brows, of the pain that scrunched up her eyes when she watched Merlin and Will together. He thought of Blayne’s long-ago admonishment not to cause his mum any worry. He thought of the many nights he had left her alone in their cottage, of the suppers he had rushed through in order to get back to Will’s bed. He thought of Hunith’s sighs when she learned about the pranks, both light-hearted and vengeful, that he and Will had pulled on their neighbours, of the dyed sheep, the stolen cider, the suggestive crude drawings in the dirt in front of the chapel. He thought of the uncomfortable silence that had lived between them this past winter, of how they had run out of words for each other. Did taking care of his mother mean deserting her, removing himself from Ealdor?

Something rustled in the undergrowth and Merlin watched a hare dart across the path, long ears blazing behind it. With his magic, he sensed the hare’s life force, knowing he could call out to it, convince it he meant no harm, stare curiously into its living black eyes. He stretched out his hand instinctively, but then blinked, feeling the moment pass as the hare scurried off.

He thought on Hunith’s words— _you’ll have to be more careful with your magic in Camelot_. He wondered if there was a purpose to his magic, if the impatient power running through his veins was meant to rusticate in Ealdor, or if it called him to greater things: to kings, battles, deep lakes, and dark caves.

Merlin turned and drifted home.

///

That night he slept alone. His narrow bed felt too large, his limbs empty without Will; he tossed and turned for hours before dropping into sleep.

In his dream, he saw himself weaving through a bustling marketplace; elation buzzed through him as he meandered through the throngs of people. Suddenly, he stumbled upon Blayne. The man had not aged a day and his warm smile felt like home. He grinned widely, smacked Merlin on the back and tossed him up in the air as though he were still six.

Then Merlin was soaring high above the crowd, looking down on the throngs of people, fine ladies and armoured knights, some of whom glanced up at him and smiled as he sped past. For the first time since he was six, Merlin could breathe freely.

///

In the small hours before dawn, he woke to the sound of Hunith lighting the hearth and scraping the porridge pot. The uncomfortable feel of his own bed startled him for a moment, and he reached out for Will’s warmth. But then he remembered and he shoved out of bed, desperate to busy himself so he could avoid thinking of Will’s accusing words that still ached inside him like a day-old bruise.

He pulled his tunic over his head, stuffed his feet into his boots, and headed for the door to make an escape. Just as he reached the door, Hunith called out, “Merlin, come here.”

He spun, trapped by her words. When he walked over to her, sensing the warmth from the hearth against his legs, she smiled rigidly and placed her hand on his cheek. “Merlin, I may have spoken in haste, yesterday.”

He glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes, staring dully at the logs on the hearth.

“I’m proud of you, Merlin, you have so much life in you, too much for Ealdor, I think.”

He risked looking up, gazing into her pained expression. “Mum . . . I don’t know if I can leave Will.”

“You have to leave Ealdor,” she stated simply. “With or without Will. Your life is going to be so much more than him. In Camelot, no one will judge you for what you do. Gaius will take care of you, and you’ll have the chance to study magic with him, even though you will have to do it secretly.”

“Mum,” he said blankly. “Will won’t come with me. He doesn’t want to go to a court.” An idea flashed into his mind, and he grabbed onto it. “What if . . . what if Will and I leave Ealdor, but don’t go to Camelot. Go somewhere else, another village. Or . . . we could live in a cottage somewhere with no village, I don’t know just . . . go some place other than here.” The words rushed out of his mouth, but as they did, something felt wrong about them.

Hunith’s brows drew together, she shook her head vehemently, and her hand tightened around Merlin’s cheek. “Live in a cottage in the woods, Merlin? Now you’re talking nonsense. Would you even be able to fend for yourself? One hard winter and you boys would be dead. No, I _need_ to know that you are safe. And the only place you’ll be safe right now is in Camelot. Please, Merlin, I’ve lost so many people I’ve loved, your . . . my own twin brother. Don’t you think it hurt me to lose Blayne like that? I _cannot_ lose you as well. I have to know where you are.”

She dropped her hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sometimes you have to leave behind someone you love in order to do what’s best for yourself, Merlin. Life is like that,” she said quietly. “Now come eat your breakfast and then I’ve got some extra chores lined up for you. There are some loose stones in the southern wall of the cottage that need replacing before you go. And I’ll need a full supply of firewood hauled over from the clearing. I’ve already starting gathering up things for your pack; you can help with that, too. If you’re going to reach Camelot by Wednesday, you’ll have to leave first thing tomorrow.”

///

Merlin shouldered his pack and trudged down the path that wound away from Ealdor. Today he would be walking farther down that road than he ever had. Today he would finally see what lay beyond Ealdor. The hills loomed in front of him, the clouds casting dark shadows over the fresh green of the hills.

When he passed the sturdy, giant oak that had long served as his and Will’s refuge, he noticed Will’s boots by the trunk—a flag, an invitation, a challenge.

He paused, staring uncertainly at them for a moment, before dropping his pack and slipping off his own boots. Jumping to reach the lowest branch, he scrambled up and over the knobbed footholds that stretched up in a pattern only he and Will knew, wondering if this was the last time he would ever climb this tree. It was flowering with the bright, almost unreal yellow-green of early spring. His hands moved over the familiar grips, nails digging into the bark, toes scrabbling for purchase against the branches.

Will was waiting for him silently, not bothering to pelt him with rolled up bits of leaves this time, not even bothering to look at him. Merlin joined him, feeling exposed without the leafy cover of summer leaves hiding them. If any villager looked up, they would be spotted, framed by delicate yellow-green.

“We’re getting too old for this, Will.”

Will stared ahead of him, looking at the village stretched below them.

“So you’re really leaving then? Already? After . . .” Will kicked out at the air.

“I’ve got to, Will. My mum, she’s giving me no choice. You think I want to leave you?”

“Don’t you? Everyone does.”

Merlin reached out, laying his hand on Will’s thigh. “Come with me Will.”

Will turned to meet Merlin’s eyes for the first time. “I’ve got no use for courts, Merlin, never did. I don’t understand you. I thought I knew you.”

“You _do_ know me Will, please. If I could do this differently, I would. Just come with me.”

Will looked away again and set his jaw. “I had a chance to leave, too, you know, Merlin. But I stayed.” Will nodded, voice growing louder. “I stayed. But if you want to leave, Merlin. Then go on. If this is what you want, then good riddance.”

He gestured grandly and Merlin caught his hand, yanking him forward, pulling him into a bruising kiss, trying to convince Will with his body in a way that he couldn’t with words. Will’s tongue met his fiercely, but when Merlin bit down hard on Will’s bottom lip, Will just shoved him away.

“Go on, Merlin, get out of here. Go off to your bloody court,” Will muttered.

Merlin stared at his face, so familiar when it was wrought in anger—the cords in his neck, the tenseness of his jaw, the ferociousness lurking behind his eyes.

“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” Merlin admitted softly.

“Piss off, Merlin. I’m not going to feel sorry for you. You’re the one leaving me.”

Merlin imagined an older man he’d never met who was waiting for him, waiting to take him under his wing and show him how to use magic. He imagined a place where no one would point fingers at him when crops were ruined. He imagined learning to shape his magic, eager and powerful under his skin. He imagined a place where he could kiss a man without glancing around first to make sure no one was watching. He imagined living for something bigger. He imagined living freely. He imagined a place where he could breathe.

“Will, please . . .”

“Just go, get outta here.”

“Will, I just want you to understand.” He opened his mouth to explain, to break his weighty promise to Hunith. But the glare of Will’s turned-away gaze made him falter.

“Just go, Merlin,” Will repeated firmly.

So he did.


End file.
